The Corner Princess
by Lady Catalina Scorcese
Summary: A Irish prostitute becomes an unlikely favorite to the 'Butcher'...Read and REVIEW, DAMMIT!


Corner Princess  
  
The political machines of the city, all of them, have one thing in common-they are men. Men, given the right circumstances, setting, and the friendliest cunt possible, are powerless to women-to an extent. A poor Irish woman, living in the bowels of the city with 'streets of gold,' can bring her far richer, more influential arch-enemy on his knees with simple, physical wiles. Let me explain myself, in ways that cannot possibly be modest, in order to describe the psychological dilemma here.  
There-that sinful pit in the corners, I worked. I can't say, however, that it was any less accommodating than the churches in Cork. There were far less rats, and that was probably due to the comparatively louder atmosphere.  
The smell of raw, fresh blood will always linger under my nostrils, no matter where I tread, as long as I am alive. The smell of butchered flesh is what kept me alive, as I lived out those days in the corners. Even now, the smell makes me excited, eager, and shameless to want to turn around and looking into his hard but beautiful face.  
These days I see no one and a slight wave of ever - decreasing melancholy floods over me. But then, long ago, as a young girl.  
.I must have been seventeen when it happened. It would be fair to say that when the girls each had their first experience with the Butcher, their ages could average around seventeen. Unlike me, they were often raised since their wee years to eventually submit to him; I went to him by my own free will.  
Blood covered and was absorbed in the smock, shining as though it were silk. He dissected the pig effortlessly; perhaps this is how he saw all men and (especially) women. They were all maps, directions, roads, hidden places where treasures and curses could be unsheathed. The Butcher was a god who could somehow read all people easily, solve their individual mysteries, and then destroy them and more swiftly. This powerful ability to crush so simply did, admittedly, arouse my sense of lust.  
I slowly made my way to the butcher table, leaning on a nearby post and watching him like a disciple. You could say that I was one, although my worship extended only to sleeping with his paying friends. With every step, I began to mentally submit to him. I wanted to worship him more, say different prayers and do different practices for him.and to him.  
Even with the whores and their johns surrounding me, their business transactions shamelessly occurring loudly, I was totally absorbed by the Butcher. I suppose that must have been the definition of love; there's a beautiful circus of filth surrounding you, and you are privileged to watch free of charge-and instead, you prefer to gaze upon the tall, looming figure at the lonely front of the room carve a piece of bleeding game.  
His gaze upon the meat was fascinating, his expression not uncanny to that of a priest in prayer. It was an art to him, a lovely art. Even I myself became absorbed in the rough but incredibly accurate slaughter of the poor beast.  
  
The Butcher saw my reflection the puddle of blood on the table, and his eyes shot up at me. I was taken aback at his attention. I struggled for words.  
  
"I-I." His face was calm, although tired looking. "I don't want any meat - I just.hello, sir!"  
He began to laugh. "Top of the morning to you, my little Irish tart!" He paused for a moment. "Have we met before?"  
"I've been here for a month."  
"Yes, I noticed. But have we been properly introduced?"  
"I.I don't think so. But I know who you are. I suppose everyone does." He laughed again. "What's your name, missy?"  
"Shannon, sir." Surprisingly, tender warmth spread over his face.  
"Your name.it makes me think of something.clean water. It's been such a long time since I drank clean water. You can't find it in this city, what with all the nasty shit and bile and." he looked down at the pig's remains. ".blood."  
I saw the sadness in his face, and I became fully aware of the love in my heart for him, as his aching became mine twice amplified. He looked at me again, cold humour in his eyes. "Do they have clean water in Ireland?"  
"I wouldn't know. The rivers were used for laundry, garbage and bathing. The only water I drank from wells, which had questionable origins, sir."  
"Where were you from?"  
"Cork, sir." I looked down, bracing myself for more taunting.  
"Would you rather be there, or are you glad you left for this place?"  
"In all honesty sir, I'm not looking for a place to be in-I'm looking for the person I want to be. I don't think I was going to find that person living in Cork, with the Pope and all. I might find her living here, or maybe somewhere else. I just need to take some steps, move forward rather than nowhere."  
When my eyes returned to his, he had placed the knife down, his hands folded in front of his chest. His face was fixed in thought and his eyes were directed at me. He was listening to me. Unless it was to see that I had memorized the prayers for mass, I couldn't remember anyone in Ireland listening to me.  
"I do believe that's the best answer I've ever heard." I curtsied, my heart brimming with joy. For the first time, I had said something that was agreeable.  
"You flatter me, sir."  
"I'm serious. What do you do here?"  
"Wh-what sir?"  
"Besides stand here and watch me carve meat, what is your occupation?"  
I looked around at the other girls, all drowning in shallow embraces of sin. Then, I turned back my eyes to the Butcher, and he understood my answer.  
"What kind of person are you now?"  
"Curious, desperate." I felt my face become downcast.  
".beautiful." I flinched.  
"Pardon?"  
"You're beautiful, Shannon." He remembered my name. I can recollect my mother, during the appointing of chores for the children of the family, going through an enormous list of names before finally remembered mine. This beautiful god, however, remembered mine after only hearing it once. I began to tremble.  
"You being very kind."  
"Come here Shannon." His hand beckoned me. I made my way around the table, until I was next to him. His warmth was inhuman.  
"Let me show you something, child." In front of us lay a pig, its flesh torn off in patches. "One who doesn't know that much about pork would be amazed to know how much he has in common with pigs.  
"The heart," he pointed to the muscle, exposed in a cage of ribs, "so similar." I never have, nor do I intend to study medicine, so I couldn't tell you for my life whether or not the Butcher was lying to me. But if he was, I refuse to tell you, for I loved him too much to go against him. "Flesh, pink and taut.the blood.the bones.the." he traced along the heart to the neck, ".veins.the heart."  
With that, I felt warm, masculine fingers touch my neck. I could feel the private area of my body become warm and moist with the sin that stirred within my mind. My heart beat rapidly like the feet of a hare beating against the earth in his run from a fox.  
He looked in my eyes. He saw something in me, in my weakness, that rose a smile from his lips. Touching my cheek gently, he could feel the heated blush in my face. I began to softly gasp in rhythm with my heart.  
"You're becoming excited. I like that." With that said, he poked his finger through the ribs of the pig, massaged the heart gently, and then smeared a bit of the blood on my lips. Then he leaned towards my ear. "Upstairs, Shannon."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
The first part of my body that he touched was my mouth, licking the moist blood off of my lips. His hands then cupped my clothed breasts, massaging the nipples with his thumbs. Quickly, he then pushed me to my chest, straddled my back and began to unlace my corset. I didn't mind how long it would take to get back into it-I would prefer to be naked forever after this.  
Finally, free from the corset, he pulled off the remaining cloth from my body with a beautiful intensity. I felt (and probably appeared) as though I was born, fresh and clean with an air of excitement in my eyes. I became greedy: I pushed him down, as though he were some wild exotic creature that, if escaped, could destroy me. His body was unlike any man's; the thin waist, as though corseted, the strong torso, the dragon nose, the dark, sparkling eyes.  
I kissed him uncontrollably, and he responded by pouncing on top of me, crushing my breasts with his strong hands. I took my turn, unbuckling his trousers and exposing his manhood. I moved my hands to please him, feeling the strength of his passion become hot and stronger with each stroke and squeeze. He began to groan and chuckle with pleasure.  
"Calm down.calm down.you're going much too fast."  
"Do I please you? Do I?"  
No response, that is in English. More groaning and some swearing arose from his lips. He moved his hands across my naked body, sliding into the dark warmth between my thighs. He knew his way around women like, of course, a map. He knew where to touch me in order to weaken me, what to say- until I lay down with him, sex was once a great effort on my part. My customers were, well, let's just assume that sensual men have no need to solicit from prostitutes.  
But the Butcher.  
His hands left me in order to position himself into my womb, and.once he was inside me, I was simultaneously pleased and surprised. Usually men felt like dead staffs inside me, like the rook of an old bishop. The Butcher, however, felt hot, thick, pulsating and alive inside me. I gasped joyfully.  
"My God.my God." And then he began to move. Hot, throbbing, he made me feel like a lute, all twelve strings being strummed to the point of breaking the instrument itself to weakness. The bed, bouncing generously with the Butcher's thrusts and pushes, forever demented my sense of gravity.  
I closed my eyes, pulled him closer to me so he was hovering over my chest, wrapped my legs around his backside to push him into me as far as possible, and kept dancing with him. The warmth, the sweat, the moans and groans.I could feel my bones turning into bubbles, and my voice turning into the music box of Venus, with its sweet, desperate pleads for pleasure.  
"Shannon.Shannon." he called for me. I opened my eyes.  
I saw a large, hideous - looking dagger in his hands. He pointed it at my heart. I gasped in horror, but I couldn't stop moving my body. The need for pleasure was instinctual, despite my horror of the present moment. I couldn't say anything, however, and I wasn't exactly worrying about what the world would be like if I died. I just wanted to burst with him in sinful joy.  
He smiled at both my shocked expression and the continuation of my gyrations. He studied my breasts, heaving with each thrust of my body onto his, and thus he pointed his knife at the nipples, swinging the tip of the knife to each one, and eventually touching the tip of my right breast with the dagger. I stopped letting my breasts swing, and, supporting my weight with my elbows on the bed, moved only my hips. He laughed heartily at this.  
"I could kill you right now, but you won't leave until you're finished! My God, what a woman you are! You're nothing like anything I've ever seen!" He moved the dagger away, and he moved close to me, whispering while gazing into my eyes:  
"Let me make you a part of me." He leaned back, while still keeping his manhood inside of me, took the dagger, and sliced through his left shoulder. Then he leaned over, wrapping me up in his arms, and we began dancing again.  
We moved quicker and more intensely than before, and I could feel myself coming closer to climax.  
"Sir.sir.it's happening.please don't stop."  
"Drink me."  
"What?"  
"Drink of me.become a part of me.drink it." I licked the dripping blood from the womb, in order to clean his shoulder and perhaps to stop the bleeding from being so profuse. His blood was not like any of my own, which I tasted from my broken noses and teeth; his was strong and sweet, like a deep red wine.  
"Faster.faster."  
"It's happening," he gasped, "I'm.I'm."  
I screamed as we felt the finest explosion ever. In fact, I refused to leave it at that. I hung onto his body, thrusting out every last bit of pleasure I could possibly manage. As he rubbed my thigh when I curled into the bed, pretending to sleep, I thought.a part of him.? TO BE CONTINUED.? 


End file.
